


Language

by dd_123



Series: Interludes [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: M/M, Touch-Starved, no beta we die like men, post Ch 19 of Family and Home and probably before Ch 20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:01:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23068918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dd_123/pseuds/dd_123
Summary: An interlude between Chapter 19 and Chapter 20 of LadyIrina's "Family and Home".Safety, language and touch.
Relationships: Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Interludes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663186
Comments: 23
Kudos: 169





	Language

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/gifts).



The next days following their rescue and escape are spent recuperating. While the child had healed Din and Corin’s physical injuries, the events of the last week take their toll in other ways. Corin finds himself snapping awake during the night, body alert and eyes seeing looming shadows in the dark as his mind races to remember that he is safe. That Din and the child are safe. The Mandalorian’s constant nearby presence during the days and steady heartbeat beneath his ear at night is a soothing balm to Corin’s recovering equilibrium. A murmured “ _nuhoyir, ner kar'ta_ ” from Din and a comforting arm pulling him closer quickly banish the shadows, and Corin finds sleep easily enough again.

Discussions were had with Raga, punctuated with an occasional comment or observation from Paz. The full details of their rescue leaves Corin humbled and so very, very thankful. Plans are put into motion for the near future, but the wheels turn slowly and for now, all is quiet.

The quiet, however, eats at Corin after two days. He hates being a burden and useless. Surely there must be way he can help at the Covert? To earn his keep, pay his dues?

He makes the offer to Raga one evening in the communal area. Din and Paz are having an animated discussion in Mando’a that Corin can only understand passing snippets of. Something about the Foundlings. The child stands on the ground between them, his head direction volleying between one and the other.

“Anything, Raga. There has to be something I can do? That needs doing?”

Raga simply folds her arms across her chest, t-visor trained on Corin, and doesn’t say a word.

For a moment they simply look at each other. Very slowly, Raga tilts her head slightly to the side, visor never breaking lock on Corin. He breathes out a small huff. “No?”

He can hear the grin in her voice. “No.”

The child spends its days and an occasional night with the other Foundlings who immediately take the newcomer into their fold. Corin feels another shadow lift from his heart as he watches the child play with the others. It’s laughing and happy. Getting a chance to be a kid. Anything and everything they’d gone through in the last months was worth it to see it cling to the back of a Foundling as they run by, squealing with laughter.

-

There is always movement in the Covert, always guarded, but at night the bustle lessens. Foundlings and Warriors alike require sleep. Tonight, the child has been claimed by the other Foundlings, waving its little claws to Din and Corin cheerfully as it is carried away. The Mandalorian in green armour tasked with watching over the children reassures them that it is in safe hands. And it’s true. Corin can feel another shadow lift away. The child is safe here and always will be. This is its Clan. A warmth fills him with that knowledge. The Mandalorians will always keep the child safe.

With little else to do during their enforced down time, Corin follows Din back to their room. While bare and in no way resembling the familiarity of the Razor Crest, the aura of home still manages to permeate the room. Safety. Family. Together.

Soft light filters through the room and occasional and quiet conversation flows between Din and Corin as they move through their self-appointed tasks for the evening. Corin busies himself tidying the child’s newly gifted toys and supplies around his crib while Din removes his outer armour, sorting each piece at a time into one or another pile. He heads to the connected refresher to change from his leather under armour as Corin grabs the datapad given by Raga and settles himself on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked under the other as he resumes reading. Returning from the refresher, barefoot and dressed in shirt and pants with his helmet glinting in the soft light, Din sits cross legged on the floor beside the bed and picks up a vambrace. The blood and mud that sullied the armour are gone, but polish and repair is still needed. Corin glances up from his datapad and watches Din work for a moment or two, completely unaware of the small smile that settles on his lips.

_Aliit._

_Ner kar’ta._

The memory still makes Corin giddy. Some moments he still expects bad luck to arrive and make its presence known. Surely, surely this isn’t real? That they’re safe, that they escaped, that Din _cares_? Then a muttered phrase in Mando’a from Din interrupts his thoughts, and another shadow lifts as he realises that for once, there’s no bad luck, no good luck, that everything is simply okay.

The silence is comfortable. Din works through his armour, now polishing a pauldron. Light flickers on Corin’s face from the datapad as he scrolls through, breaking the silence occasionally to test a word.

Without breaking from his work, Din looks up and over to Corin. “You’ve improved. A lot.”

Corin shakes his head. “Still a long way to go.”

There’s a rustle as Din shifts on the floor, turning to face Corin. He gives a thoughtful tilt with his helmet and holds up the pauldron he’d been polishing. “What’s this?”

“Bes'marbur.” Corin lowers the datapad to his lap. If Din is going to test him on what he’s learned, it wouldn’t do to seem like he was cheating.

“Yes.” Din exchanges the pauldron for a vambrace. “This?”

 _Kriff_ , Corin thinks. “Kom… kom’rk.” His tongue feels clumsy around the read but rarely voiced word.

“Good!” Din taps his helmet. “And this?” he asks, his voice almost… playful?

Corin can’t help but laugh. “Buy'ce. That’s one of the first words I made sure I learned.”

The silence that follows has a hint of different energy. The t-visor is trained directly at him, and Corin knows without any doubt that they’re looking directly at each other. Din lowers the vambrace to the floor. A pause, and Corin watches the other man pull back his shoulders and stand gracefully before moving to the bed beside Corin. He settles and mimics Corin’s position, one leg crossed under the other, sitting very close.

Corin grips the datapad tighter as the shadows lick closer, desperately trying to think why, why admitting he learned the Mando’a word for helmet would be so…

Din moves, reaches over, and Corin loosens his death grip as Din takes the datapad, leans down and places it on the ground.

Despite everything, or maybe because of everything, Corin still feels such an amplified awareness when Din is so close to him. He thinks he always will. He goes to speak, to apologise, _anything_ , but the words stutter silent before being given sound and his breath catches as Din reaches again. Reaches and takes Corin’s hand into his own, bare skin touching his.

The energy shifts again.

“Irud.” Din’s voice is quiet, almost reverent, as he traces Corin’s forearm with his free hand. “Arm.”

Corin releases his breath. “Irud” he repeats softly.

Din hums, his hand now moving up to encircle Corin’s wrist, thumb gently swiping across his pulse point. “Gadi. Wrist”.

Corin swallows and tries to find his voice. It takes him a moment. “Gadi.”

A slow movement up and both hands now encircle his. “And this?”

“I don’t… I haven’t read…”

Another hum. “Gaan. Hand.” 

Corin echos the word softly.

The silence stretches, but it is not uncomfortable, it simply is. Corin stares at their connected hands. Breathes in, breathes out. He shifts and adjusts his seating so he can fully face Din. Breathes in, breathes out. Corin gathers his strands of courage and faith and weaves them together. He knows he won’t be kicked out, or left behind on a planet. But oh, everything is new, and there are steps ahead that haven’t been taken before. Taking a breath, he reaches out with his free hand, gently cupping Din’s neck. Remembers the taste of salt and the warmth. “And this?”

“Videk.” The shudder runs through Din’s voice. The grip on Corin’s encircled hand tightens.

They breathe in. They breathe out.

Movement breaks the silence as Din’s grip breaks. He lifts and guides Corin’s newly freed hand, pressing the palm against his neck and holds it there, and shifts to cover both of Corin’s hands with his own. Corin can feel the other man’s pulse hammering, and knows his is in sync with the same thundering rhythm.

They breathe in. They breathe out.

Din’s grip on Corin’s hands tightens. He begins to guide them, bringing Corin’s hands up to below the edge of his helmet. Corin has a moment of blind panic. 

“Wait! Din, what…?”

All movement stops. “No?” Din’s voice is low.

Corin can feel the edge of the buy’ce brushing against his fingertips. “You can’t! You can’t take it off!” Corin can hear the note of hysteria in his own voice.

A huff of a laugh and a strained reply: “Not yet.” _Yet?_ Corin thinks desperately. Din continues. “Trust me. I trust you.”

They breathe in. They breathe out.

“Okay. Okay,” Corin whispers. Din moves, guides Corin’s fingers up under the helmet. The curving indents means it’s a snug fit, with no real room to move other than to slide or to flex. Regardless, enclosed by beskar and hidden from view, Corin’s fingers graze across Din’s face. Corin doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move. He can’t. There’s a shuddering breath from Din, a tightened grip on Corin’s wrists, and slowly Din leans against the palm of Corin’s right hand. 

When Din speaks, the sound is as rough as gravel. “Ner troan. My face.”

Corin stares wild eyed at where his fingers disappear under the edge of the helmet. Involuntarily his fingers flex. Din shudders again, guides Corin’s fingers across until he feels a puff of breath against the fingertips, followed by the soft press of lips.

Corin can’t help the sound that escapes him. Din briefly tightens his grip, his lips moving slightly in a gentle caress. A whisper of a kiss. Corin can feel Din’s gaze from behind the visor. “Okay?” Corin can feel the words against his fingers as he hears them spoken.

“Yeah,” Corin replies after a moment. “Yeah, it’s okay. We’re okay.”

Corin flexes his fingers, brushing his fingertips over Din’s mouth gently before sliding his hands back to the side of Din’s face, cupping his jaw. Corin tilts his head forward, meeting Din halfway as they press their foreheads together, the coolness of the beskar helmet a contrast against the flush of Corin’s skin.

They breathe in. They breathe out.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> nuhoyir, ner kar'ta - sleep, my heart  
> aliit - family  
> ner kar'ta - my heart  
> bes'marbur - pauldron  
> kom'rk - vambrace/gauntlet  
> buy'ce - helmet  
> irud - arm  
> gadi - wrist  
> gaan - hand  
> videk- neck  
> ner troan - my face
> 
> \--
> 
> •dd• here blaming this on discord. I haven't written in almost 20 years and then you people... *shakes fist*
> 
> Please be honest but gentle. Because I haven't written creatively in almost 20 years. -_-


End file.
